


Hunting with Dogs is our Heritage

by BadwrongFox



Series: The Davis Holler [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Badwrong, Bestiality, Child Abuse, Content approved by SCAR, Crying, Dark, Dehumanization, Extremely Underage, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt No Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Physical Abuse, The South, Underage Sex, Verbal Abuse, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadwrongFox/pseuds/BadwrongFox
Summary: This is a story about a kid who has to move in with his douchebag uncle—who has hunting dogs and decides to make the kid useful.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Dog
Series: The Davis Holler [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110857
Comments: 2
Kudos: 120
Collections: Sin Corps





	Hunting with Dogs is our Heritage

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags. I put them there for a reason, this is fucked up. Obviously this is a work of fiction that should never be replicated in real life.
> 
> I hope you pervs like it, let me know what you think. 
> 
> Credit goes to brice0226 for betaing. I can’t thank them enough!

Wyatt Lee Davis has never...quite fit in with his family. Compared to them, he’s quiet and soft—always has been, no matter how hard he tries. It didn’t matter to them that he shot his first deer when he was just six.

It mattered to them that he cried when the buck went down, bellowing in pain. His Uncle Jerry had taken his gun away from him. Wyatt thought he was disappointed that he couldn’t kill it cleanly and was going to put it out of its misery.

Instead, Jerry Lee “Hogg” Davis had busted out in laughs not quite loud enough to drown out the animal’s misery and lifted the rifle high enough that Wyatt couldn’t jump up high enough to get it. Wyatt’s dad and Hogg made him watch that deer suffer. It staggered to its feet and collapsed on the ground multiple times, not getting more than 10 feet away from where it first went down. When its energy ran out, it writhed on the ground, making terrible, pitiful gurgling noises, the whites of its eyes showing exactly how terrified it was.

It hadn’t mattered that Wyatt had begged them to kill it. His dad had told him that if he wanted the deer dead faster, he should have been a better shot. After about 15 minutes, Hogg pulled out his Bowie knife and passed it hilt first to Wyatt, who stood there holding it dumbly. 

“Well, go on then. If’n you want it dead so bad, go ‘head. Slit its throat,” his uncle had said. Wyatt knew he was only offering because he didn’t think that the kid could do it, so he started off toward the deer, determined to actually do something.

“Wyatt! Wait!” his dad called out as he approached the thrashing animal. There was blood all over its fur and the deer no longer had any of the majesty it had had when he first sighted it through his scope. Wyatt stopped and turned, wondering what his dad wanted.

His dad beckoned him back over and Wyatt obeyed. He saw Jerry Lee wiping tears out of his eyes before his dad grabbed him by the back of his neck and made Wyatt meet his eyes.

“Ok, son. Now, it’s important. When you slit the son of a bitch’s throat,” he said conspiratorially as he dragged his thumb over Wyatt’s throat heavily, mimicking the movement. His son shuddered under his dad’s sadistic hand, “You need to make sure that you get him good and deep. Really open him up, ear-to-ear, so his head almost comes off. Otherwise you’re going to make him suffer more than you have already.”

He patted his son on the back ‘supportively’ and pushed the kid toward the animal, which now lay still on the ground, heaving big, loud breaths that fluttered the leaves on the forest floor. 

Wyatt stumbled closer to the buck, but when it came down to it, he hesitated. He could barely hear Hogg and his daddy laughing it up behind him over the roaring in his ears. It took him a minute or two to get the resolve and he walked around the back of the buck, away from its hooves, and grabbed its rack to pull back its head so his knife could get to its neck. 

He brought the knife up and was just getting ready to make himself do it when he realized—the buck was dead. While he had been trying to get up the courage to mercy kill the deer, the beautiful animal had suffered horribly and died.

The first grader didn’t remember screaming, tripping over the animal’s body and crawling away, or vomiting on the forest floor, but he knew he must have because his dad and Hogg reenacted it in front of the family at every chance they got for the next two weeks. 

So, anyway—he’s never fit in with his father’s family and when his dad died in a four wheeling accident, his mom had finally had enough. She had ignored Meemaw and Jerry Lee yelling at her about taking their blood out of the South and moved back up North with Wyatt, back to the same town she grew up in. That had been about a year and a half ago.

Now, the eight-year old’s life is crumbling apart again. His mom, Denise, had OD’d a week ago, and after a whirlwind of talking to cops, staying in a temporary foster home, and putting all of his earthly belongings in two bags and flying back to West Virginia, here he was. Staying in Jerry Lee’s house on the Davis family compound.

When he’d arrived, Meemaw and Vicki Sue were at the airport to pick him up. They’d fawned over him and hugged him and he did everything he could not to cry. They were nice to him for the first half of the two hour drive, but by the last hour had started calling Denise a selfish bitch who never should have taken him away. 

The Davis’ weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, but they owned about 40 acres and the entirety of his daddy’s branch of the Davis family lived there in trailers in various stages of disrepair scattered around the property. 

He’d been relieved when they finally pulled into the long, gravel driveway past the old Home Place that led deep into Davis Holler and the familiar sound of all of the hunting dogs sounding off reached his ears. The feeling of relief evaporated when he got let out at Jerry Lee’s single wide. Meemaw and Vicki Sue waved to him, making plans to have breakfast with him tomorrow. 

He grabbed his bags and navigated the yard in the dark, which was harder than you might think because of the scrap metal, broken-down trucks, and old 50-gallon barrels that had been converted into shelters for the dogs. Entering into the trailer, the smell in the air changed from dog shit to black mold, and the home’s walls didn’t seem to muffle the sound of barking at all. 

Now that he’s here, he felt awful. Hopeless. It’s just as bleak as it always was, and it’s weird being in Jerry Lee’s house because it had been the trailer he had shared with his mom and dad for the first six years of his life. Denise had kept the house and the yard respectable, but as soon as his dad died and they had moved up north, Jerry Lee had taken over the trailer as the second eldest son. 

He felt along the wall and flipped the switch, a dim light flickering on. His heart hurt, looking around and recognizing the shapes of the rooms but absolutely nothing else. His old house was….a mess. Hogg was a bachelor and it showed—everywhere. There were piles of dishes on the sink and on the counter. There were at least thirty Blue Ribbon cans on the floor next to a lumpy recliner that was so well worn the leather was discolored in the exact shape of his uncle. 

Thankfully, Jerry Lee worked nights at the plastic factory, so the house was as silent and welcoming as it will ever be. Wyatt peeked his head into his old room and saw that someone (probably Vicki Sue or Patsy) had been kind enough to move the boxes and bags of Jerry Lee’s stuff off of the guest bed and put a new set of sheets on it. The room was small and overly crowded with so much stuff that it was hard for him to find a place to put his bags that wouldn’t trigger an avalanche. 

Wyatt pulled out the plush dog that he’d had since he was a baby—Cuddles—and curled up on the lumpy twin mattress in the dark and cried.

______

The next thing Wyatt knew, he was being shaken awake to the stale smell of beer on his uncle’s breath. “Baby Face! Get out here!” Hogg said harshly as he walked out of Wyatt’s bedroom. His tone made Wyatt jump out of bed, put on his shoes—the floor was too gross to go barefoot—and get out into the main room. It was 4:48 a.m. 

Jerry Lee was waiting for Wyatt, leaned back in his leather chair, face unreadable. Hogg was almost the spitting image of Wyatt’s father in every way imaginable. He had the same greasy brown hair that was overdue for a cut and always covered by a sweat-stained ball cap. The same grey-brown eyes with the same disdainful squint. He was in good shape but had the same well-earned beer belly and the same, cruel spirit.

“You think because your ma died you’re gonna be able to laze around and not pull your weight?”he asked, eyeing his brother’s kid. He cut Wyatt off when he tried to explain himself, “Nah, I’m not hearing your bullshit today. You’ve always been an entitled piece of work. Who do you think just got home after working a 12 hour shift? Boy, I work for a living. I’m not gonna hear a word from you until you pull your weight around here. Go feed the dogs,” he ordered. 

“Now?” Wyatt asked reflexively—he’d just been rudely woken up from a dead sleep and wasn’t thinking as clearly as he should be. He knew better than to talk back to Jerry Lee. 

Before Wyatt could even register Hogg was rising to his feet, he felt the back of his uncle’s hand crack across his jaw, “Did I stutter, you little faggot? GO FEED MY DOGS!” Jerry Lee bellowed. 

Surprised tears sprang to Wyatt’s eyes and his hand went to his cheek. Jerry Lee feinted toward him and Wyatt jolted and tripped over his own feet, crashing to the ground onto a pile of trash. Hogg’s mocking laugh chased the kid out of the house and into the moonlight. 

The dogs burst into raucous barking as the door slammed behind him and Wyatt held onto the porch railing, gasping big breaths until he stopped shaking. He didn’t know what he had thought—maybe that he would stay with Meemaw? Maybe Jerry Lee had changed? —but whatever it was, it was stupid. Things always go from bad to worse and Wyatt’s sure it hasn’t even gotten bad yet. 

He checked the porch and then walked around the yard by the moonlight, trying to find the dog food. He found it in a heavy metal bin by the barn. There was a 5 gallon bucket next to it, which he filled up with food and a scoop before walking from dog to dog and tossing each a scoop on the dirt for them to eat up. It took him longer than it probably should have.

The dogs were all on 8 to 10ft chains and there had to be at least twenty of them. They barked and growled and yodeled and howled at him desperately, leaping at the end of their chains and clothes-lining themselves; it took time for him to pick a path through the dark that was out of their reach. He doesn’t stop to pet any of them. 

It’s not that he didn’t like dogs, but he didn’t like these dogs. They’re outside dogs—they smell gross, your hand feels dirty after you pet them, they jump all over you and lick and sniff like they’ve never seen a human before. He knows it's not the dogs’ fault, but he can’t help it. They’re his uncle’s dogs and just as Jerry Lee Davis said all the time—they’re hunting dogs, they ain’t good for nothin’ else.

When he was done, he returned the scoop and bucket to the bin and made his way back up to the house. He wished that he didn’t have to go back inside. He wished that he could be anywhere else. But as far as Wyatt’s seen, wishing and praying hadn’t ever helped anyone. 

Steeling himself, Wyatt walked back into the house, and of course Jerry Lee hadn't moved. He was waiting for him. 

“What the hell took you so long??! Did you feed all the dogs?”

Hogg’s nephew knew better than to back talk him—and didn’t have the balls to even if he wanted to. “I’m sorry it took me so long. Yes, I got all the dogs.”

“Oh really? I didn’t hear Ruger getting fed,” he said, referencing his #1 stud dog that made a very distinctive screaming sound out of excitement when you approached him with his dinner.

“I...think I got them all? Where’s Ruger’s kennel?” Wyatt asked, uneasily.

“Over on the footbridge on the other side of the branch,” Hogg said, his eyes lit up with cruel delight like a shark that caught a whiff of blood in the water

“I’m sorry..I missed him. I’ll go feed him right now,” Wyatt says, starting to back up to try and get to the door, all his alarm bells were going off.

Faster than a copperhead striking, Jerry Lee had crossed the room, putting his weight into the hand he stretched out onto the door, slamming it shut where Wyatt had opened it. 

“You’re not here for 24 hours and you’re already lyin’ ta me, Baby Face?,” he said, barely bothering to hide the glee on his face. “You tryin’ ta starve my best huntin’ dog?? Ruger cost more than your pathetic life is worth—hell, if I took him to Caroll’s,” he said, referencing the local livestock auction house, “tomorrow he’d bring in 15 grand, easy! What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?? Trying to starve my favorite dog.” 

He grabbed Wyatt by the scruff of the neck in a way that the boy has been conditioned over the years to hate and frogmarched him out to the barn to get dog food, then past all of the dogs who were losing their shit about something new and exciting happening. They walked over the fallen log that acted as the ‘bridge’ to the small stream and back into the forest a little bit before an awful shrieking noise sounded out. The sound repeated and got louder and louder until they came to a small, moon-dappled clearing. Ruger lived in relative luxury. He had a big pen with a huge dog house and didn't have to be chained. The tricolor hound was mostly black, with a little brown and white on his paws. He was big, but lean, about 70lbs and up to at least Wyatt’s belly. 

Ruger became frantic, the banshee noise came to a crescendo as they got to the kennel gate. Jerry Lee laughed and kicked the dog through the fence, “SHUT UP you dumbass! I’ve got your fuckin food and a treat for you, too.” He looked back to Wyatt. “Okay, feed him then.” 

Wyatt got the scoop and made to toss the food into the kennel before Hogg’s hand clamped down on his small arm. “Naw, this is my best dog. You want my best dog to eat dirt? Go in there and feed my fuckin’ dog in his goddamned bowl, you fuckin’ idiot.”

Wyatt had never felt like running from someone more than in that moment, but Jerry Lee had a solid handle on him and shoved him toward the gate. Ruger was leaping around everywhere and had started that awful screaming again, the noise carrying across the still air of the early morning and filtering through the trees. 

Upon opening the kennel, Wyatt barely gets inside before Ruger slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and almost making him spill the dog food. The stud was a healthy, active dog, and had spent 99% of his life in a 12’ x 24’pen. When Wyatt entered and the gate clanged shut behind him, Ruger was overjoyed and frantic for attention, mobbing him to the point where each of Wyatt’s attempts to stand were pointless. The dog had no problem knocking him back to the ground over and over again. Fear started clawing at Wyatt’s throat. He’s not scared of dogs, but Ruger was super strong and overwhelming and might hurt Wyatt without even trying to.

“Don’t fuck around,” Jerry Lee snapped. “If you can’t get to your feet, crawl over to his fuckin’ bowl to put his food in there!! God, you’re fuckin’ useless.”

Wyatt was breathing heavily as he did what his uncle said, crawling to the dog’s big red bowl, awkwardly holding the scoop so it didn’t spill and Ruger couldn’t get to it. It’s only about 8 feet but it felt like a mile to the little boy. He finally got there and poured the food into the bowl, and the onslaught was over. It was suddenly so calm and quiet as Ruger started scarfing up his food instead of wailing directly into Wyatt’s ear and pawing at him impatiently. 

Wyatt began to get to his feet when Jerry Lee barked at him, “Stay down on your fucking hands and knees, you fucking faggot.” 

Wyatt started trembling, “Hogg….Hogg..please let me get up,” he asked as tears sprang to his eyes for the second time that night. It was all too much. He didn’t know exactly where this was going, but he could tell that Hogg’s upset and on one of his power trips.

His uncle’s voice was disgusted and harsh, “I said STAY ON YOUR KNEES like the fucking faggot you are!” Wyatt could hear Ruger behind him, making gross, sloppy noises as he ate up his kibble. 

The boy did as he was told and looks up to ask if he can stand now. His uncle stood behind the kennel gate, and it was hard to tell in the moonlight but ...it looked like he was holding his penis. Then Jerry Lee started moving his hand up and down in a very distinctive way, and Wyatt knew he was holding his privates. 

“Now listen to me closely, and do exactly what I fucking tell you or I’ll introduce you to the rest of the pack. Okay? You can choose. Do fucking exactly what I tell you right now in Ruger’s kennel or make me take you down the hill and you can do what I ask you 22 times instead of once, okay??”

Wyatt was freaked out and confused and he’s never been more scared in his life. Whatever Hogg was going to tell him to do, he could tell it’s going to be bad.

Jerry Lee could see the moment that Wyatt decided on the ‘easy’ option and a slimy, excited grin spread across his face and his hand sped up, stripping his cock. “Stay down. Now peel those pants and underwear down off your little white ass.” 

It was obvious that Wyatt was terrified, but he looked up at his uncle one more time and knew in his bones that he’d better do what Hogg said. His hand shook as he reached back, fumbling with his pants before shoving them down, then repeating the process with his briefs. 

“Whoooop!” Jerry Lee exclaimed, “It’s a fuckin full moon tonight!!!!”and then bursts into laughter. “Crawl closer, Baby Face. I can’t see you so well when you’re all the way over there.”

Wyatt sniffled as he followed his instructions, crawling across the dusty dirt of the pen, packed down by years of Ruger pacing over the same ground. His uncle thought it was hilarious as he watched the boy crawl awkwardly with his skinny, pale ass hanging out of his pants.

Jerry Lee cackled as he looked at Wyatt’s devastated face and how the boy’s expression changed to abject fear when suddenly he felt Ruger snuffling at his bare ass. The boy yelped and shuffled a little before Jerry Lee yelled at him, “STAY. You fuckin stay still, you ugly bitch. Now, you listen here—Ruger’s a stud dog and he’s up here by himself and all lonely. Don’t you think that’s mean?”

Wyatt’s mind was reeling as he realized what he thought was happening might actually be happening. He’s seen dogs breed before. Everyone in the Davis Holler has. He didn’t answer immediately, thinking Jerry Lee didn’t want an answer.

“I said don’t you think it’s cruel for a stud dog to be left all alone with no friends?” his uncle asked, grinding his teeth. 

“Yeah, but..” Wyatt didn’t have a chance to finish his thought before Jerry Lee spoke over him in a loud voice.

“GOOD. Because you’re gonna keep him company and let him breed your ass!” he said gleefully. Wyatt didn’t have time to process anything before Jerry Lee continued, this time, talking to his dog, “UP! GET IT, BOY!”

At first, Ruger wasn’t sexually aroused but the general arousal and excitement of having a human in his pen easily translated. Ruger looked a little confused, but he’s been studded out all over the county and knows what to do when Jerry Lee starts shouting at him. Wyatt didn’t have time to even try to get away before the hound dog leapt up and locked his paws around the boy’s waist. The dog’s dewclaws dragged across Wyatt’s lily white skin, creating raised red welts that were invisible in the low light but will be obvious during the day. 

No matter how good he wanted to be and how much he didn’t want to be beat by Jerry Lee, Wyatt couldn’t stop himself from screaming and struggling to get away—but he should have done that before the dog got a good grip on him. 

Wyatt’s frantic wrestling seemed to get the dog’s blood up and Ruger’s hips started pumping, his little pink tip already peeking out of his sheath. Each thrust smeared the dog’s tacky penis against Wyatt’s skin, leaving little trails that glistened in the moonlight until the dog thrusted again and smeared the wetness away. 

Jerry Lee was fucking euphoric. He couldn’t believe the little faggot fell for it. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought he’d be able to see his dog breed a kid in real time. Sure—he’s watched a ton of videos of dogs fucking women—and occasionally men. Hell, if the government didn’t want you to find it, bestiality videos woudln’t be the first thing that popped up on Google when you type in “women fucks dog.” He wished he’d known this was going to happen, he would have set up a night vision camera. Oh, well—next time.

The moment that Ruger actually penetrates his nephew was priceless. Sure, the kid had been yelling and trying to get away, but that notched up to 11 when a real dog dick introduced itself into his ass. Man, that kid could holler, and the pure terror in his voice made Jerry Lee come all over his hand and down the metal of the gate of the dog pen.

Ruger’s utilitarian and fast at getting the job done, and once the tip was in, the hound dog started mercilessly rabbiting into Wyatt’s tiny ass, forcing his way in and pulling the boy back onto his cock in the same movement. Wyatt’s body was rigid with pain and he looked like he was going to throw up. 

After less than two minutes, Wyatt started wailing again—Jerry Lee knows what that’s about and a smirk twitched on his thin lips as Ruger’s knot expanded. Wyatt was making sounds like a whimpering puppy, but really it was just that dumb, prissy faggot crying under Jerry Lee’s stud. 

Once he finished coming, Ruger was all busines, lifting up his leg and working it up and over Wyatt, twisting his dick in a way that made Hogg grimace every time. Now butt-to-butt, Ruger stepped forward, testing the tie, and Wyatt’s little noises turned into pained screams again before the dog settled down to wait for his knot to go down. 

“Get it out!! Get it outtt!” Wyatt started fussing again, sobbing. Tears cascaded down his face, mixing with snot and trailing down his skin—the boy was inconsolable.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hogg said. “Ruger’s just doing what dogs do—breeding. Don’t get mad at him. Get mad at yourself for being such a slutty piece of ass. You’re the one who told me Ruger shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Please,” Wyatt pleaded, swallowing back his cries. “Please get him out of me,” he asked, trying to sound as together and respectful as he could while inside he was nothing but a tangle of emotions and turmoil.

Something wet and warm started pattering down on Wyatt's hair and face. It took him a second to even register he’s getting wet, and when he looked up to see why he came almost face to face with his uncle’s cock across the fence as it spits concentrated urine directly into his face. 

“Uh!!” Wyatt exclaimed, scrambling away from the fence quickly and trying to stand. In his attempt, he forgot he was tied to a dog and the tug of the knot brought him crashing back to his knees, Ruger yelping behind him as Wyatt pulled away, dragging the screaming hound with him. 

When Wyatt realized why he was in so much more pain and why Ruger was freaking out, he stayed still on again, not able to get far enough away from Jerry Lee as the man’s stream finished off, wetting Wyatt’s shirt down with piss.  
  
His uncle chuckled as he shook off his tip and zipped himself back up. “Look, Wyatt. I know losing your mom was tough. But she was a ugly bitch who stole you from us before your dad was even cold. I’m glad that you’ll be living with your real family again.” He started walking away and then turned around, “Oh! Don’t forget, we’ve got breakfast with your MeeMaw and the rest of the family in two hours, try to clean up before then,” he said, walking back towards his trailer, leaving Wyatt tied to Ruger in the dirt. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m open to collaborating on or rping to publish other stories of a similar nature.
> 
> If you would like to have Early Access for Fiction from SCAR consider becoming a beta reader for SCAR or even a collaborator if you have writing experience.) 
> 
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> 
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